Im outside the system, working with the rules set by the system. Im standing on an elephant shaped bridge drinking orange-creame liquor with Maggie Cho. Im drinking Mountain Dew and Southern Comfort with Ashley at noon. I spray water down the wasp hole and it opens. Rats in the back chew the hose. I wake up and all I want is another hour of sleep. The floor is wet and sloshing. Im sinking and back in Canton. The cornfield and the compound. The second floor where my ears sting from the last bong hit. Needle a ball straight under my skin.
I need to bring my camera to work Monday, the crows are roosting, I need footage.
The coffee man came and fixed the coffee machine. He blessed me with a large cup o French roast. But as he warned, the blessing of the day can become the curse of the nite.
Hey! Look at me! Im scaryoooh! Im edgyoooooh! I snort oxicot off of a strippers assoooh! Go ahead, Jed, tap your red-hot hitter on that lighter again. One more time! Ok! Boom!
I went to a rave, and in order to be the centre of attention, I stuck a glow-rod up my ass and quacked like a duck. No one seemed to notice. I licked a lemon and smacked the sparkles off some slut. No one seemed to notice. I torched a cocktail and lit the place up. No one seemed to notice. I burned all the ravers to death. No one seemed to care.
Sams starting to ease up on the whole fag thing. Last nite he said, about his brother, hes a closet-fag. Closet-homoor however you would say that as not to offend. But Im curious if hes toning it down because I got on his ass, or if he stood back and heard how he sounded. As insensitive as it sounds, I actually think that closet-fag has a bit of a poetic bite that I like. I guess the truth outweighs the intent. Sometimes you have to let language wash over you, let it say what it means without becoming desensitized or disheartened. Certain vulgarities are used, specifically, to lament the truth.
After returning from the basement from starting my laundry, I noticed a large spider crawling up my shorts. Realizing this, I began beating myself in the crotch with a bag of candy bars.
Apathy is rampant and AIDS is on the rise. Drive-thrus, automated tellers, and catalogue shopping. E-Wares. The telephone was the first disconnect, not the internet and cell phone. Text messaging. Email. Even with the common letter, atleast there was something personal. A signature, a loop, a cross. With a cell phone youre in a bubble, the monotone voice at the other end doesnt care what movie youre renting. Even when its a loved one. Ironically, the cell phone is our new way of reaching out, of trying to breathe. But in doing so, we are ignoring the person standing next to us. The people in the crowd at a stadium talking to themselves, to other people on other phones across the satellites, and hey honey, can you see me. Im wearing that shirt.
Im waving.
Can you see me?
Pick me up something on the way home, will you?
Its hard to see a smile thru a phone. And no, I dont love you. Leave a fucking message already.
And that conversation is all you have for a week. The two of you sitting in the same room, watching the same movie, not saying a thing. Maybe, grab me a soda. Orgoodnight, set the alarm, wake me up at seven, see you when you get home, call me on your lunch break.
Its hard to muster any emotion when you spend all day looking at a computer screen, a television all nite.
Maybe thats why sitcoms are so popular. Its a chance to feel something for someone. Even if theyre fake. And even if you dont give a fuck either way. I mean, why should you care who Rachels babys father is when you could be out meeting someone rightthismoment.
We are the new immunodeficient, technology is our bubble. Oohirony abound.
And here's a rat map. I be in the red circle. yo.
I need to bring my camera to work Monday, the crows are roosting, I need footage.
The coffee man came and fixed the coffee machine. He blessed me with a large cup o French roast. But as he warned, the blessing of the day can become the curse of the nite.
Hey! Look at me! Im scaryoooh! Im edgyoooooh! I snort oxicot off of a strippers assoooh! Go ahead, Jed, tap your red-hot hitter on that lighter again. One more time! Ok! Boom!
I went to a rave, and in order to be the centre of attention, I stuck a glow-rod up my ass and quacked like a duck. No one seemed to notice. I licked a lemon and smacked the sparkles off some slut. No one seemed to notice. I torched a cocktail and lit the place up. No one seemed to notice. I burned all the ravers to death. No one seemed to care.
Sams starting to ease up on the whole fag thing. Last nite he said, about his brother, hes a closet-fag. Closet-homoor however you would say that as not to offend. But Im curious if hes toning it down because I got on his ass, or if he stood back and heard how he sounded. As insensitive as it sounds, I actually think that closet-fag has a bit of a poetic bite that I like. I guess the truth outweighs the intent. Sometimes you have to let language wash over you, let it say what it means without becoming desensitized or disheartened. Certain vulgarities are used, specifically, to lament the truth.
After returning from the basement from starting my laundry, I noticed a large spider crawling up my shorts. Realizing this, I began beating myself in the crotch with a bag of candy bars.
Apathy is rampant and AIDS is on the rise. Drive-thrus, automated tellers, and catalogue shopping. E-Wares. The telephone was the first disconnect, not the internet and cell phone. Text messaging. Email. Even with the common letter, atleast there was something personal. A signature, a loop, a cross. With a cell phone youre in a bubble, the monotone voice at the other end doesnt care what movie youre renting. Even when its a loved one. Ironically, the cell phone is our new way of reaching out, of trying to breathe. But in doing so, we are ignoring the person standing next to us. The people in the crowd at a stadium talking to themselves, to other people on other phones across the satellites, and hey honey, can you see me. Im wearing that shirt.
Im waving.
Can you see me?
Pick me up something on the way home, will you?
Its hard to see a smile thru a phone. And no, I dont love you. Leave a fucking message already.
And that conversation is all you have for a week. The two of you sitting in the same room, watching the same movie, not saying a thing. Maybe, grab me a soda. Orgoodnight, set the alarm, wake me up at seven, see you when you get home, call me on your lunch break.
Its hard to muster any emotion when you spend all day looking at a computer screen, a television all nite.
Maybe thats why sitcoms are so popular. Its a chance to feel something for someone. Even if theyre fake. And even if you dont give a fuck either way. I mean, why should you care who Rachels babys father is when you could be out meeting someone rightthismoment.
We are the new immunodeficient, technology is our bubble. Oohirony abound.
And here's a rat map. I be in the red circle. yo.
m_bethany:
um yeah, and you don't? It is typing also... some people have a lot to say. But thanks for the effort.
phoolsfire:
i can see my house from here 